Authors: Vestal McIntyre
He straddled the bench, and Enrique noticed that he was flanked by a few other boys. “I was wondering if you could help me with this report I’m writing for health class.”
“Okay,” said Enrique.
“It’s on AIDS. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”
The other boys snorted and kicked at each other’s shoes.
Enrique looked down.
“First of all,” Pete said, “do you have AIDS?” Enrique said nothing. Some of these boys were his friends, or had been. “Okay, what else? Does it hurt when Gene puts his dick in your butt? Do more Mexicans have AIDS than white people? Do you think you’ll always be gay, or do you think it’ll go away?”
Enrique’s heartbeat rang in his ears. Inside, he became very quiet and small. He was like an animal in the woods, for whom stillness is the first defense.
Don’t move
.
“Okay,” said Pete. “Thanks for your help.” He got up from the table and walked away, followed by the other boys, who now laughed loudly.
Enrique sat quietly looking at his tray, wondering if everyone had seen. How loudly had Pete been talking?
The bell rang.
Enrique quickly took his tray to the window, then rushed outside with his shoulders hunched and his arms taut at his sides, like an escape artist who walks away from his challenge with his arms still bound. He didn’t look at the other kids running to class but kept his eyes on the pavement.
Then, suddenly, trees were exploding out of the lawn—huge trees with trunks the size of silos. Redwoods, giant sequoias, ancient trees, shooting up a mile high, throwing chunks of earth over the school buildings. Like Jack-and-the-Beanstalks; like volcanoes erupting, but erupting tree trunks. The thunderclaps they made as they exploded from the earth, which were really Enrique’s own heartbeats banging in his ears, drowned out the echoing of Pete Randolph’s questions.
“What’s wrong?” Miriam asked when Enrique sat down next to her in English class.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t hear another word that Miriam or Miss Holly or anyone else said for the rest of the day.
I
n order to play a sport or join a club, a kid had to have either a car or a ride. The bus left at two-thirty sharp, the time most extracurricular activities started. So the school-sponsored groups, be they debate team, French club, or football, were made up mostly of rich kids, and the afternoon bus passengers were mostly poor. To take advantage of the science club’s offer, Enrique and Gene would either have to make the hour-long walk home afterward under the open sky, or find a ride.
“Jay,” Enrique said without looking up from his supper Sunday night, “could you give us a ride home after school on Thursday?”
“I got football practice.”
“I know. We have a meeting after school, so we can’t take the bus.”
“You and E.T.?”
“His name is Gene.”
“Yeah. I’ll pick you up in front of the junior high at four-thirty.”
“We’re going to be at the high school. Building D.”
“Look, I’ll pick you up in front of the
junior high
, all right?”
Enrique, who had been hoping Jay would ask what he would be doing in the high school building, now understood that he didn’t want to be seen with him. “Okay,” he said.
If either boy had looked up from his plate, he would have noticed Lina smiling to herself. This was less from the satisfaction that Jay had agreed to do Enrique a favor than relief at not having had to broker the deal herself.
On Thursday, Lina went to the Halls’ house and cleaned. She had not received the call from Sandra that she had expected. The anger Lina had felt when Sandra had asked her not to vacuum had faded, and Lina could see that it had been silly: Sandra had been tired; of course she didn’t want a vacuum roaring in the next room. She didn’t suspect that her husband had kissed Lina and wasn’t going to fire her.
Lina cleaned well, making up for the last time. She wiped down the high shelves in the breakfast room and—even though it was an off-week and she wouldn’t get paid for it—thoroughly dusted the train boxes in the basement. Usually she gave these a quick once-over with the feather duster out of disdain and the knowledge that, even if Mr. Hall ever came down here, he would never be able to see dust on the boxes in this dim light.
Later, when she was deep in thought, vacuuming the Halls’ bedroom, Mr. Hall stepped in. Lina stood and, with her toe, turned the machine off. There was silence. Lina opened her mouth once, then closed it. She couldn’t think of what it was she had prepared to say.
Mr. Hall walked toward her. Lina felt a little panic. He took the vacuum hose out of her hand and laid it on the floor. He took her face in his hands like a boy who had learned to kiss from watching TV, and kissed her. There was warmth in the kiss. It was unrushed and deliberate, as if he had been searching the world for Lina these past weeks, all the while thinking of how he would kiss her when he found her. Now he had.
The searing argument that Lina had practiced, the scolding hand gestures, the indignant tone—all of this was lost. She hadn’t planned what she would do if he didn’t say anything.
They kissed and held each other. With a kind of distanced fascination, Lina realized that this event—sex with this married man—was going to happen. She was going to let it. She was going to watch.
Slowly, without releasing each other, they made their shuffling way onto the bed. Mr. Hall got up and closed the blinds. Then he pushed a button on the wall, and slats over the skylight buzzed closed, darkening the room. Lina had never noticed that button before. Then Mr. Hall returned to the bed and said, “Lina, are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Can we undress under the covers?”
They pulled up the comforter and wrestled out of their clothes. Now she was naked with this man. They kissed again and again, because they needed to.
Everything they did felt completely different from what Lina had done with Jorge, the father of her sons—so different that it seemed to be another act entirely. This was lovemaking. Although Jorge had disavowed the Catholic faith and all its rules, his approach to sex still bore Catholicism’s regimented mark. He refused to use condoms. He claimed to have a physical need to ejaculate every other night, and Lina usually had sex with him to avoid the displeasure of lying there in the dark listening to the persistent wet thud of his masturbating. It sounded, she couldn’t help thinking, like a dog licking a wound.
This felt different, but she would wait and list the ways afterward.
Mr. Hall went down under the covers. Lina shifted a little and squirmed, embarrassed (although he surely couldn’t see) of how hairy she was down there. He rested one hand on either of her bulging, dimpled thighs. He put his head between her legs and started to lick her. She knew some men did this to women, but Jorge had certainly never done it to her. It tickled. This was too much. She tried to pull him back up, but he clutched her soft flesh. The licking tickled more, but in such a way that, to make it stop tickling, she had to let him do it harder. So she held the back of his head and crushed him into her.
W
HEN
E
NRIQUE AND
Gene arrived at the meeting of the science club in room 204 of Building D, Miriam was already seated next to Cam Pierce, and they were conversing with ease. Enrique figured that Cam was a friend of one of Miriam’s older siblings. Miriam interacted with members of her family’s wide-reaching circle, both kids and adults, without formality, rivalry, or discomfort. They didn’t trade in
cool
. Enrique was learning that
cool
was the gold standard in high school. One had to act cool. “Is he cool?” kids would ask each other, meaning,
Do we accept him?
They would glance at each other to take a quick vote. “Yeah, he’s cool.” Or, more often, “No, he’s lame” or “gay” or “retarded” or “a spaz” or “a shit-kicker,” which meant that he was a farm kid and therefore not cool. Enrique and Gene were not and would never be cool; the question was which of its many opposites they would be.
But, Enrique noticed as he and Gene joined their classmates in the corner, neither were these members of the high school science club cool. Some were outright nerds, but others were regular smart kids who were neither popular nor unpopular but had managed, as it were, to dodge the draft. Liz Padgett was here, the twin sister of Winston, Jay’s best friend, but the others Enrique didn’t recognize and hardly remembered having seen before, they kept such a low profile.
“Ahem, I call to order this meeting of the Eula High School Science Club,” announced a boy—one of the true nerds present—after the room had filled with fifteen or twenty high school kids. Mr. Peterson and Mrs. Christiansen, the high school science teacher, had taken their seats near the junior high kids in the back. The boy speaking had feathered hair that fell over his ears and down past his collar. Even Enrique knew this style was hopelessly out of date. His horizontally striped Izod shirt was tucked too firmly into his tightly belted jeans.
“I am Kevin Fry, president. Our main item of business today will be planning next weekend’s trip to Craters of the Moon National Monument. But first, we have present with us some seventh- and eighth-graders who will be taking part in the Snake River District Science Fair. Can we take a moment to welcome our junior brethren?” Laughing at Kevin’s choice of words, the high school kids turned and applauded. Enrique’s spirits were actually lifted by this. He imagined for a moment being inducted into this secret society: learning powerful chants in ancient languages and receiving a special ring. “Each team has been assigned a mentor,” Kevin continued. “We’re going to break into small groups now. You can meet your mentor and explain your project, then you’re free to go, since the rest of our agenda doesn’t concern you. Ten minutes, all right?”
A few of the high school kids stood and approached the junior high kids, who remained frozen in their seats; the rest leaned forward over desktops attached to chairs to chat with each other.
“Hi, are you Enrique?”
The girl smiling down at him had straight hair the color of cardboard. Her solemn face was long and narrow, as was her body. If it weren’t for a beak-like nose, she would have been pretty. Her round, heavy-lidded eyes were set in their sockets like those of a doll that sleeps when you lay her down. Their weary expression seemed at odds with her lips, which smiled freely.
“Yeah,” said Enrique.
“I’m Abby Hall,” she said. “And you must be Gene.”
Slumped sideways in his seat, Gene nodded and gazed away at the floor. It looked as if his round head would roll off his shoulders.
Enrique saw in Abby’s expression that she was registering the oddness of this boy. He had witnessed this look many times before. Abby turned back to him. “You’re Jay’s little brother, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I know your mom.”
Enrique understood: his mother cleaned her house. Abby was trying to be polite by not mentioning just how she knew her.
“Oh, right, the Halls,” Enrique said.
“Why don’t you tell me about your project?” Abby said, sitting down.
Enrique took out the special Trapper Keeper he had devoted to the science-fair project and, with a loud rip, opened its Velcro flap. From a hot-pink folder he took several newspaper articles. He handed these to Abby, who lifted them one by one carefully, as if they were pieces of lace. He told her what had happened at Lake Nyos.
“I remember hearing about this last summer. Wasn’t it Agent Orange or something?” Abby asked.
At this Enrique perked up. “That’s what everyone thought, but that’s definitely not it.” He explained the theories of poisonous gases from the lake.
“Wow,” said Abby, handing the clippings back to Enrique, “good research.”
“Yeah, Gene’s been going to Boise for articles.”
Abby took on a mock-stern expression and gave Gene a thumbs-up. Enrique could see she was one of those girls who would try different methods of reaching Gene. He liked those girls.
From a chartreuse folder, Enrique took Gene’s sketches and handed them over. “Nice,” murmured Abby, sifting through the drawings as Enrique explained the project: “We’re gonna make a model in a Plexiglas box. We
were
gonna have ants in there, and demonstrate how the poison worked by uncovering a jar with fingernail-polish remover.”
“But,” Abby said, “no ants.”
“Right.”
“Plus,” she added, “no one wants to see a bunch of ants killed for no reason, even though they’re just bugs.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s kind of macabre.”
“See? Macabre,” said Enrique to Gene, who responded by tightening the fold of his arms.
“So, it looks like you’ve got good information, you just need to figure out another way to demonstrate it. Do you have any other ideas?”
“We haven’t gotten that far,” Enrique said. “Mr. Peterson said to try to make it about Idaho. But this happened in Africa.”
“I suppose you could try to tell what it would be like if this happened in Idaho, as a motivation for solving the mystery.” Abby lowered her voice and added, “You could also ignore what Mr. Peterson says.”
Enrique and Gene both smiled.
“What else could you do? You could show the different theories of what actually killed those people, the right and the wrong ones.”
“Or we could find out other lakes where this could happen,” Enrique said.
“We can solve the mystery!” said Gene.
Abby appeared surprised by his soprano voice.
“How are we going to do that, Gene, go to Africa?”
“People? People?” Kevin called. “Can we reconvene?”
“You guys are on the right track.” Abby took out a pen and wrote down her phone number.
“Our junior brethren are free to leave at this point,” Kevin said. “You are invited to our meeting two weeks from today to present rough drafts of your projects to the club.”
“Call me if you want to practice,” Abby said, pushing the paper toward Enrique as she stood. “This is going to be a cool project.” She went back to her seat next to Liz Padgett.
“She was nice, huh?” Enrique said to Gene as they walked toward the junior high along the wall of the gymnasium in order to avoid crossing the naked lawn.
“Yes,” Gene said.
“What did you mean, we could solve the mystery?”
“I meant that we can find out what actually happened.”
“Before the scientists?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sure, Gene! How are we gonna do that? They’re in Africa, and we’re in Idaho.”
“We’ll use the scientific method,” Gene said.
They passed between the junior high buildings and went to the parking lot. Enrique looked at his digital watch and saw that it would be nearly an hour before Jay came to get them. The boys put down their backpacks and sat down on the curb in the shade.
“I’m going to join the science club when I’m in high school,” Enrique said. “Did you hear? They go on field trips and stuff. Are you going to join?”
“I don’t know.”
“It sounds like Boy Scouts, but better. I wish they let junior high kids join.”
They sat quietly. Enrique picked up a leathery yellow leaf and folded it into tiny squares, while Gene traced a pattern on the concrete with a stick. Then Gene became restless. He got up and walked a strange walk, two short steps, then a long one, balancing atop the short wall that held the bank of landscaping against the wall of the school. Enrique got up and followed, kicking off the yellow leaves. Then he heard laughter and looked up to see a group of boys walking toward them. Junior high football practice had just gotten out.
“Let’s go this way.” Enrique turned Gene around by tugging on his shirt. They hopped off the wall and walked away from the approaching boys.
“Enrique!” one of them sang in falsetto. “Sweetie!”
The other boys whistled and made kissing noises.
“Come on, Gene!” said Enrique, and they walked faster.
“Hey, Enrique, come here!” yelled one of the boys. It was Pete Randolph.
Enrique outwalked Gene, who remained in the shade, apparently confused by the boys’ attention.
“Enrique, I want to ask you something!”
Enrique slipped between the cars out into the parking lot.